


Swim in the light

by chu_t



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cheating, Clubbing, DJ - Freeform, Electronic music, F/F, Infidelity, Kid cudi - Freeform, Oral Sex, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 08:00:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10271966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chu_t/pseuds/chu_t
Summary: Her eyes suddenly find green ones in the flicker of a beam and it’s as if everything around her instantly slows down. The beat drops from under her feat, the bodies all around them seemingly folding in on themselves. She doesn’t know what it is about these eyes, but Clarke stays rooted to the spot, standing, eyes locked with the stranger, barely registering the movement all around her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So...this just...completely came out of left field and caught me off guard. Plus it's unchartered territory for me to venture into a modern AU.  
> Written to the soundtrack of Kid Cudi’s Passion, Pain & Demon Slayin. Because Kid Cudi, obviously. But also because one of the album's tracks is called The Commander (!). If you’re wondering whether this is for you, just put Kid Cudi – Releaser on and if it does the job to get you into the mood, then read on ;)  
> Song lyrics are in cursive and for those who'd like to follow the story with the right soundtrack, it goes a little bit like this:  
> Rose Golden  
> Swim in the light  
> Cosmic Warrior  
> By Design  
> All in
> 
> This is currently planned as a one-shot (the second part of the chapter, picking up right where we left our two dancers, will be added onto it once I'm happy enough with the scenes). 
> 
> Like so many writers, I am starved for comments, so let me know what you think :)

She shouldn’t be here: she’s tired, cranky, pretty sure she’s about to have her period and her feet **hurt**. She knows for a fact she’ll bitterly regret staying out so late come tomorrow morning when she’ll have to pitch yet another lacklustre project to a group of what will inevitably turn out to be older men, set in their ideas. But Raven insisted, begged and insulted her “premature old lady lifestyle” with her usual snark and Clarke had finally given in.

 

Her right hand finds the thin rose gold band adorning her ring finger. It’s become a nervous tick as of late. Ever since she said yes. Yes. I do. I do. I really do. I’m sure. I am.

 

Raven thrusts another shot of God only knows what in her hand, this one’s a glowing ruby red and Clarke closes her eyes in a wince when she swallows it in one go. She knows exactly what’s coming: she’s noticed Raven’s eyes locking onto something – someone – in her back several times now, which would place the mystery person who’s caught her friend’s eye on the dancefloor. There’s something in the engineer’s gaze however, something that makes Clarke wonder if maybe this isn’t a first time encounter. A small voice that wonders whether this person may be the reason why Raven chose this very nightclub over one of their regular hangouts.

 

It’s one of those sleek new venues that opened in the abandoned warehouses by the river, all part of this burgeoning scene that is starting to give her town a new name. Without however the pretentious VIP bouncers regulating entrance to the other locations. (The lines of twenty something hipsters, each one wearing more over the top vintage garbage than the other, had always put her off. Maybe Raven’s right and she **is** turning into an old fart.) From what she’s seen of it so far, the owner artfully created a labyrinthine maze of secluded bars lit in dimmed pastels, pitch-black sinuous corridors, where you literally have to feel your way around to make it to your destination, breaking off into even narrower passageways here and there, leading to the venue’s three dancefloors or its many secret private rooms.

 

_Oh, since I was young, been grooving to my own drum_

 

The drums kick in. She nods her head to the slow empowering chorus filling the room. The voices  rise from the floor, slowly enveloping them in the flow’s spacey aesthetic. Her now empty shot glass continues to glow in the dark. She rolls the item in her hand while enjoying the lightning burn of the alcohol, all the way down to her gut. The glass clinks against the ring. Once. Twice. She ignores it. Her eyes wander over the few faces and bodies she can make out in the ambient darkness. How had O put it? “Just because I’m not hungry doesn’t mean I won’t look at the menu.” The memory brings a smile to her face.

 

Raven’s in a mood, she can tell. The mood to fuck the frustration of a high-stress male-only working environment away in the arms of a pretty body. She should know: Clarke herself had been that very body more than just a couple of times back in college. But that’s all in the past and the two had managed to build a uniquely strong friendship out of it. Clarke had never understood how her friend could know in advance she wanted a girl or a boy for the night (she’s curious to see which one her friend’s leaning towards tonight). She herself had always defended the idea that it was all about people, individual energies, singular moments and not gender.

 

Speaking of which…Raven now wants to dance. And yep, the glint is definitely there. It’s perfect in a way: Clarke can indulge her a little bit, pretend she doesn’t notice Raven’s manoeuvring until her friend inevitably makes her move, giving Clarke the perfect excuse to disappear and hightail it back home. It is close to midnight after all and her calendar is chock-full of meetings tomorrow.

 

Raven pulls her forward as the song morphs into heady electronics and the two make their way out to the middle of the dancefloor.

 

_You could try and numb the pain, but it'll never go away_

_You could try and numb the pain, but it'll never go away_

 

The music’s building inside of her while the singer brokenly croons on auto tune about fighting the darkness (tonight’s DJ must be in one hell of a brooding mood, but it works, somehow).

 

Raven presses close, letting her hands roam over Clarke’s curves. Oh, she’s good, she has to give her that. Whoever that mystery person is her friend is after, they don’t stand a chance. The laser lights flicker in and out. The sea of bodies moving as one to the beat thrumming out from the walls. She closes her eyes and lets herself go, forgetting for just an instant her protesting feet. (It’s just for one song anyway, she’ll soon be able to slip away and curl up in her big and fluffy duvet.)

 

_Calls from the dark_

_I got hope in my eyes_

_No help inside_

_I'm’a swim in the light_

_She's tryn’a pull me in_

 

It all works like clockwork. Like it’s been rehearsed. One minute Raven is facing her, her hands lazily guiding her hips. The second she’s turned, her back now against Clarke’s front, guiding the blonde’s arms around her. The third the brunette’s hands leave hers and settle around the shoulders of a tall woman with golden blonde hair, who seems to have appeared out of nowhere, drawing the stranger close.

 

She has to admit Raven definitely hit the jackpot: the woman’s gorgeous, all sinewy, radiating strength. And she manages not to step on Clarke’s toes when she shuffles closer into Raven’s embrace, which can only earn her a glowing review in her book. With her friend’s hips still directing her own, Clarke whispers her goodbye in Raven’s ear and with a last squeeze to her friend’s side, her eyes briefly crossing those of Raven’s fuck du jour (unconsciously – or very consciously –  assessing her, Raven does deserve the best after all, even if only for tonight), she leaves the two to their dance.

 

It’s harder to fight her way out of the mass of people swaying to the sombre psychedelic vocals. The beat changes yet again, more aggressive, almost ominous.

 

_Since birth it was prophecy, the Cosmic Warrior_

_Surrounded by infinite light, surrounded by infinite light_

_Since birth it was prophecy, the Cosmic Warrior_

_Cosmic Warrior, surrounded by infinite light_

_Surrounded by infinite light_

 

Her eyes suddenly find green ones in the flicker of a beam and it’s as if everything around her instantly slows down. The beat drops from under her feat, the bodies all around them seemingly folding in on themselves. It’s not really their colour or shape – she couldn’t really tell from afar – although the way they shine in the room’s obscurity is hypnotizing. It’s not the naked hunger she thinks she can decipher in them, nor the promise they hold. She doesn’t know what it is about these eyes, but Clarke stays rooted to the spot, standing, eyes locked with the stranger, barely registering the movement all around her. 

 

_I took a swan dive_

_Need to say I'm okay_

_War all behind me_

_Metaphor for the life of mine_

 

The girl dips her head down and it shatters their connection. Clarke sees her reach down before lifting headphones to her right ear. And oh… she’s the moody DJ.

 

Where was she going again? That’s right: back home. Bed. Tired. Time to get back on track. Although, she did quite like the selection the girl’s got going. And she’s been craving new music... Her feet scream at her in protest but the memory of seductive beats and Raven’s hands guiding her hips is stronger. Mind made up, she plunges back into the mass of people, this time making her way to the decks from which Green Eyes is mixing.

 

When she reaches her destination, the girl’s in the middle of what appears to be an argument with an unhappy partyer in his mid-forties. Clarke uses the time to let her eyes roam over her, with no clue what to do, now that she’s here. What the fuck was she thinking? The girl’s wearing a plunging waistcoat (and from what she can tell pretty much nothing underneath), brown hair tied back, painted skin glowing pale.

 

Fuck she’s hot. Something coils inside of Clarke.

 

Something hot.

 

Something dangerous. 

 

“Look pal, I’m sorry, I love the 80s just as much as you do, but the song you’re requesting simply doesn’t mesh with what we’ve got going here tonight. But tell you what, a friend of mine is organizing an 80s night next month down at the Ark. You’re welcome to drop by and I promise I’ll play that very song, just for you!”

 

She brings the headphones back up to her ear and the beat fades into this feral breathing, the rapper mumbling unintelligibly obscure nothings over it. The flow’s darker somehow, whispered threats.

 

She looks back up, turns to Clarke and damn. These eyes. They’re back. Only just more intense. Only just more enticing. More… everything. What the fuck is she doing here? She could be home by now.

 

“Hey”

 

Clarke blushes. She hasn’t blushed in front of a pretty girl who’s simply greeting her since probably Kindergarten.

 

“Hi”

 

The girl has to lean far out over her deck to hear her over the music and yep, she’s definitely not wearing anything under that waistcoat. She can make out the outline of small little breasts, pressed against the constricting fabric.

 

“What can I do for you?”

 

Oh. Right. The music. Clarke looks away, trying to break away from the hold these eyes seem to have on her.

 

“The song you played, like 10min ago. You know, the one with the lonely vocals?” (she sounds like a moron - serves her well, she should be home after all) “I was wondering if you could tell me its name?”

 

“Oh, sure. You mean the one where he sings about battling inner-demons? It’s Kid Cudi, Swim in the light. Good right?” The DJ chuckles before continuing “I have to admit, I was a little bit scared you were coming over here to make a scene.”

 

Clarke furrows her brows. Why would she say that? Does she look like a disgruntled customer on a rampage?

 

The DJ seems to sense her confusion. “Your girlfriend over there seems to have found an interesting new way to pass the time…” she explains, jerking her head towards the dancefloor.

 

Clarke looks back and sure enough, Raven and the stranger from earlier are making out as if the world’s survival depends on it, hands all over each other. Wait… does that mean the girl was watching them earlier?

 

It could be pervy. Could be stalkerish. Clarke finds the idea an incredible turn on.

 

“Oh, Raven’s not my girlfriend…”

 

She leaves it hanging. The girl throws an uncertain look to her left hand before their eyes lock once again.

 

Clarke doesn’t know where this desire to keep the conversation going comes from, but she asks anyway: “Do people often blame the DJ?”

 

The girl chuckles, her eyes not once leaving hers.

 

“You’d be surprised what people come up with.”

 

Well, yeah, the music tonight definitely…sets the mood.

 

The DJ’s teeth peek out, sinking into perfect lower lips before letting go and clenching her jaw. She looks unsure for a second before she offers: “I was actually planning on taking a small break. My partner’s supposed to take over for a bit. Want to stick around? I could use the company…”

 

She was on her way out. She was. She should. This is wrong and can only get worse.

 

But. Well. Green eyes.

 

Clarke nods, her throat too dry to speak.

 

She’s fucked.

 

The brunette signals for somebody behind them and a young Asian guy walks over. They talk for a minute before she hands him the headphones with a small pat on the shoulder. The transition is smooth, the same type of atmospheric lethargy echoing off the walls. 

 

Green Eyes grabs her hand and takes the lead. It could be forward. Could be obnoxious. Clarke finds it undescribably sexy. The touch sends immediate chills down her spine.

 

(yeah: so beyond fucked)

 

Instead of heading to the bar, as Clarke thought they would, she pushes them back into the electric throng of dancing people. She turns around, her body oh so close and leans in.

 

“Want to dance? I asked Monty to put some more Kid Cudi for you.”

 

Clarke can feel the small puff of air brush her ear. And damn… That voice. That something dangerous coils tighter, almost to the point of hurting, heavy and uncomfortable. She just nods back into green eyes.

 

(fucked fucked fucked)

 

_Moments don't pass me up, no, no_

_'Cause I seize them in stride_

 

The beat picks up, piano keys leading the charge, with a hint of funk that gets her body moving of its own accord. They start dancing, face to face, not touching, but oh so close, tiptoeing around this invisible line. (But it’s not, invisible, is it? It’s glowing right there, adorning her hand.) And she can’t cross that line. She can’t. But fuck is everything inside her inexplicably drawn to this stranger.

_I see everything with new beams, I do dream_

_My eyes are glowing mood rings, you're boring_

_Stop duelling with the true thing, I do think_

_When you think too much you're removing what's moving_

The girl reaches out, tentatively, almost scared. It could be presumptuous. Could earn her a slap in the face. Clarke though is unable to form any coherent thought by now. Lost in the cosmic haziness of the room. Lost in the vibrations of the hand slowly tracing a path from her ear, her jaw, down to her neck. Lost in these magnetic green eyes boring into her own. 

 

And it burns, so much.

 

The line’s disappeared by now, swept aside in the sand by impatient hands or washed away by an unstoppable tide. And really, the room’s obscurity invites forbidden touches and secret explorations. And this beat… more sinful than the dirtiest r’n’b, this beat **demands** contact.

_I'm exposed and I am pure_

_No one makes me feel secure_

_Except you and now we're all in_

_All in, I am all in_

 

She feels as if on the verge of a blackout. She has no idea what her feet, her arms, her hands are doing (although they seem to know very well). All she knows is that she needs more. Needs to be closer. Needs to feel Green Eyes moving against her.

 

She buries her head in the girl’s neck, pulls her in, can hear her small intake, can feel her rugged breaths against her own chest. She’s painfully aware of the growing wetness in her underwear. Her hand brings the girl’s ass forwards. It’s firm, curvy, small. Perfect. They come together with a small bump and her thigh slips between the girl’s legs. The brunette releases a small gasp, breathing downright erratic now, her eyes widening, so dark.

 

And really, Clarke never stood a chance.

 

“Do you… Would you like to… I…” the girl’s visibly struggling with words and seems to give up on it entirely. Her hand finds one of Clarke’s and the blonde finds herself yet again following the brunette, this time off the dancefloor and into one of the dark corridors. As soon as the darkness engulfs them, Clarke feels herself pushed against the wall’s carpet-like fabric. The music’s introspective melody faintly reaches their ears out here. Barely a whisper over the deafening sound of their staccato breathing.

 

She can not be here. She can not do this. But fuck does she want.


End file.
